


Bitter Rivals

by fairestandfoulest



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Rivalry, barber shop au, hair stylist, minor t'challa/ororo, more characters but those are the major ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 20:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairestandfoulest/pseuds/fairestandfoulest
Summary: “We call them barbers in my neck of the woods.” Sam smiled faux sweetly. “Also, yes.”Bucky shook his head and more wisps of hair fell to frame his face and, really, that was just too unfair. Hello, Disney, do you need your prince back?“I wouldn’t be see sure of that, sweetheart.” Penis, chill.“Well I don’t give a shit, honey.” Sam pushed open the door and left.“Call me when you’re looking for someone to buy the shop,” Bucky called and Sam whipped around, but the door had already shut and Bucky was looking down.With a huff, Sam marched back to Pop’s and stormed in, lips pressed together tightly. Luke looked amused, which, when didn’t he, but Pop looked at Sam expectantly. Miles was in a chair, headphones in and bobbing his head to the music, with his sketchpad laying in his lap.Sam took a moment to compose himself before looking at Pop, face set. “We are going to destroy that salon if it’s the last thing I do.”-X-Or, the hair salon/barber shop rivalry AU no one really wanted





	Bitter Rivals

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BACK!!!!
> 
> Wow wow wow wow. It has been almost THREE YEARS since I have written a fic and actually finished lol. This was such a pleasure to write and its so stupid and so lovely. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> TW: there is a panic attack in the fic, but everybody ends up okay. I just wanted to lay that out on the table and remind people to take care of themselves. This fic is not worth triggering yourself, so stay self.
> 
> Please leave your comments and kudos!
> 
> Also, the title is from Bitter Rivals by Sleigh Bells. I suggest listening to it because it gives a pretty good vibe for this fic.

Sam liked to run. After his discharge, he needed something to keep his mind off of his service. It made him feel good, exercising for the sake of it and not so he’s ready to run for his life. But getting up at the crack of dawn to run _before_ work? Not fun.

It wasn’t that Sam could even complain about his work because he felt so grateful for the opportunity Pop had given him. Coming back from Afghanistan, Sam had no idea what he would do for an income and he spent most of his time outside at the VA. He loved volunteering there, but that was all it was: volunteer work. So, when he’d been getting his hair done for the first time in eight months, he’d admitted that he was going to be kicked out of his apartment and then, next thing he knew, he was walking out of there with a job.

He’d started with sweeping the floor but, when one of their barbers had quit for the prissy new salon across the street, Pop had approached him for the position. At first, Sam had been scared out of his wits. He hadn’t felt qualified for the job, or even worthy of it, but Pop had this trust in him that Sam hadn’t seen since his own father, who had died when he was six. It was the best choice that Sam had ever made, walking into the barbershop that day. Even if his thighs burned so badly he wanted to die. And he felt like he was going to pass out from heat exhaustion.

The bell tinkled gently when Sam opened the door, the smell of aftershave and shampoo slapping him in the face. It made Sam smile every time.

“Pop,” Sam called, like always, and said, “you die and leave me the shop yet?”

“Like I’d ever leave the shop in your sloppy hands,” Pop said, right on cue. He looked up from where he was laying out the razors. “You ever even heard of clean edges?”

Sam laughed with the other barbers, clapping the old man on the back. Luke smirked from where he was wiping away the smudges on a mirror. “How you doin’?” he asked Sam and Sam shrugged.

“Same old, same old,” he said, offering a smile when Luke gave him a smack on the back. Sam’s smile dropped like bricks as Luke nearly broke his back. “Stop working out, man.”

Sam rolled his shoulders and side-eyed Luke. Sam was a bisexual man. More importantly, he was a bisexual man with _eyes_ and Luke could make them melt right out of a person’s head, that’s how good looking he was. Just looking at him was enough to make Sam’s stomach clench in anticipation of butterflies.

“We lost another customer to that damn salon,” Pop said, huffing and leaning back against the sink. “Anymore and we might have to pay people to come to us.”

“Want me to write bad review on Yelp?” Miles offered and Sam scrubbed the kids face, chuckling when he got pushed away with a scowl. Sometimes, on weekends, his dad would drop him off when his wife and his shifts collided. Miles was a good kid, quiet and respectful and bringing a youth to the shop where it was sorely lacking.

“No,” Pop said. “Luke, go intimidate them.” Sam snorted. Sure, Luke was as big as a tank and came to them after a stint in a prison, but he was the nicest guy Sam knew.

“I’ll get right on that,” Luke said, easygoing as ever. Sam filled his coffee mug and checked over his shoulder before adding a shit ton of cream and sugar. He didn’t need Miles to know he was getting soften in his old age.

“I can check on the competition,” Sam said, taking along sip. Miles looked at him with narrowed eyes and Sam felt the need to say, “It’s black.”

“Uh-huh,” Miles said, very judgmental, at the same time Pop said, “Good idea!” Sam sighed and set his coffee down, moving to leave.

“Tell them you’re ex-Air Force,” Pop yelled behind and Sam crossed the street, just wanting this to be over with as quick as possible. Sam had mostly been joking when he’d offered to go, but Pop had a habit of not understanding sarcasm. Or, maybe, _refusing_ to understand sarcasm.

Walking into the salon, a strong smell of flowers assaulted Sam’s senses and he felt the need to rub his nose.

“Welcome,” the receptionist said, so sugary Sam’s gums actually ached for a second. The nameplate in front of her read ‘Janet van Dyne.’ Her pixie-cut was styled to perfection and Sam was a little entranced by the swoop in her hair.

“Hi,” Sam said, suddenly realizing what he was doing. _What the hell am I supposed to say?_ He thought. _My name’s Sam and I’m here to tell you to stop taking our customers._

“You’re that guy from across the street, right?” Janet asked. “The one who works at the barbershop?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, a little surprised she knew. She had a knowing look on her face with her nose scrunched up.

“Coming to look at the competition?” she asked and Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That obvious?” Sam asked because of course it was. “Look, can I stay here for five minutes, act like I’m gaining intel while really just making small talk and then I’ll be on my way?” Janet nodded with a giggle, typing something on her phone really quick.

“Sure, can I get you anything? Herbal tea, cucumber water? Maybe a macaroon?” Sam stared at her but she didn’t laugh, so he just shook his head no.

Sam took the second to look around at the salon. There was a lot of pink and animal print while bubblegum pop played in the background. Beautiful paintings hung on the walls, lighting perfectly playing them up. It was like something out of 90s movie; it was that surreal.

A slight clamor behind Sam caused him to startle and look over his shoulder before blanching. In walked someone out of Sam’s fantasies with his muscles and Henley and hair piled into a bun on the top of his head, showing off a red star tattoo behind his ear.. His jeans fit snugly around his thighs and, under the man’s leather jacket, Sam saw a peak of a silver hand.

Sam’s Walking Wet Dream took off his aviators and looked Sam up and down with gray eyes and wow, look at that, Sam’s dick definitely still worked. Go him.

“Customer?” the man asked and Sam could hear a clear Brooklyn draw.

“Nope, from the barbershop across the street,” Janet said and Sam’s Walking Wet Dream’s lips curled into a slight sneer and oh, that was how it was gonna be.

“Welcome,” the guy said, voice that side of hostile.

“Thanks,” Sam said, keeping his own tone cheerful. “I’m surprised they would let a guy like you work here.” Sam’s Walking Wet Dream’s jaw clenched and he straightened his back.

“Someone like me?” he asked, moving closer to Sam so he could smell his cologne. It smelled like cinnamon and Sam always had a thing for sweets.

“A guy who has obviously never seen a pair scissors in his life,” Sam said and that seemed to surprise the guy.

“What’s your name?” he asked, moving to stand behind Janet and look at the computer screen.

“Sam Wilson,” Sam said and the guy bobbed his head at whatever she had pointed at.

“Bucky Barnes,” he said and Sam snorted.

“Your mom hate you?” he asked and Bucky glared.

“Not sure I know you enough for you to be talkin’ bout my ma.” Sam held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Well, I better get back,” Sam said and Janet smiled brightly, waving him away. Sam turned and got to the door when Bucky spoke.

“You guys are still in business?” Bucky asked and Sam turned around with narrowed eyes. Bucky held up his hands in a mocking mimic of Sam’s pose a few minutes before. “Sorry, after Maria came to me to start cutting her hair, I thought it would be a little hard. Was Hill your client?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “If Maria was my client, she certainly wouldn’t be having you give her a haircut.” Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. He crossed his arms and Sam forced himself not to look at the way his biceps bulged obscenely.

“You think you’re a better stylist than me?”

“We call them barbers in my neck of the woods.” Sam smiled faux sweetly. “Also, yes.”

Bucky shook his head and more wisps of hair fell to frame his face and, _really,_ that was just too unfair. _Hello, Disney, do you need your prince back?_

“I wouldn’t be see sure of that, sweetheart.” _Penis, chill._

“Well I don’t give a shit, _honey.”_ Sam pushed open the door and left.

“Call me when you’re looking for someone to buy the shop,” Bucky called and Sam whipped around, but the door had already shut and Bucky was looking down.

With a huff, Sam marched back to Pop’s and stormed in, lips pressed together tightly. Luke looked amused, which, when didn’t he, but Pop looked at Sam expectantly. Miles was in a chair, headphones in and bobbing his head to the music, with his sketchpad laying in his lap.

Sam took a moment to compose himself before looking at Pop, face set. “We are going to destroy that salon if it’s the last thing I do.”

-X-

Sam stood in Pop’s shop, looking out the window at the salon with a pair of binoculars. He adjusted them slightly and honed in Bucky. He was washing some asshole wearing an Armani suit and red-bottomed shoes. He had a small smile, laughing at whatever the man said and then relaying something to his blonde coworker.

If Bucky was good looking, this man was something else, with his long blonde hair and chiseled face. Sam hated the both of them with their too tight shirts and obnoxiously charming smiles.

“Don’t let my _mami_ catch you spying,” Miles said and Sam jumped, turning to narrow his eyes at the kid. His headphones hung around his neck as he looked shrewdly up at Sam. “She’ll give you a piece of your mind.”

“Well, Rio ain’t here,” Sam said, turning back to his mission. “And we need to gather intel, Miles. It’s what you do in war.”

“Why are you at war?” Miles asked and Sam sighed, because the smartest kids always asked too many questions.

“Because Bucky decided to be a little shit.” Sam glanced sharply at Miles. “Don’t tell your Mom I cussed in front of you.”

“I’m thirteen, not two,” Miles grumbled, sliding up closer to Sam. He tucked his sketchpad under his arm. “They’ve got some nice art in there. I always want to ask who the artist is, but I felt weird when I walked in there. Looked like an idiot when I turned around and left immediately.”

“Their art’s not as good as yours,” Sam said, giving the boy a smile and watching him flush with pride.

“You’ve never seen my art,” Miles pointed out and Sam shrugged.

“Don’t need to,” Sam said. “I just know.” Miles looked completely flustered now and, with a huff, he wrapped his arms around Miles in a quick hug. Sam swallowed his laugh and patted Miles on the back.

Sam gave a wide smile to the man walking in the shop, calling out a greeting as the door opened. Steve Rogers was probably Sam’s favorite customer, as well as his running partner. They had a lot in common with their mutual service and had actually been discharged around the same time. Steve had been in the army about the same time as Sam and he’d been discharged after hospitalization when stranded for months in the deserts of Iraq and developing COPD. He never quite breathed right and their runs consisted of a lot of breaks.

Yet, Steve was the most positive man that Sam had ever met and he never seemed to let his illness weigh him down, though that may have been from years of experience. Besides, Steve always reminded Sam that it could have been worse and he could have been a prisoner of war like his friend, James, whom Sam had never met.

“What’s up, Cap?” Sam asked. “You in for cut?”

Steve shook his head with a smile, rubbing at his stubble covered jaw. “Just a cleanup,” he said. “Don’t tell Tony, though; he kind of likes the whole rugged look.”

That was another thing about Steve: he was dating Tony Stark. _The_ Tony Stark. Pioneer of technology, including some of the most advanced prosthetics Sam had ever seen. It was no coincidence that the same time Steve had started dating Tony was the same time the VA had gotten some of their largest anonymous donations yet.

Sam handed his binoculars to Miles, telling him, “Keep watch for me, yeah?” Miles nodded seriously, bringing the binoculars up.

“How’s your boy?” Sam asked, putting a cover around Steve and the grabbing a hot towel to soften his stubble.

“He’s good,” Steve said with his voice muffled. “Getting his hair trimmed at the salon.” Sam scowled, removing the towel and rubbing some oil, first, and then shaving cream on Steve’s face.

“Traitor,” Sam grumbled, whipping out his straight razor and starting the process. Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Have a vendetta against the salon?” he asked and Sam shushed him.

“I can’t shave if you speak,” Sam told him, removing Steve’s beard with smooth strokes. “And yes, I do, because everyone who works there is a little shit. Except for Janet.”

“Come now, I have some friends who work there.” Sam shushed him again, this time louder.

“Steve, stop talking. Also, I don’t care about your friends. Everyone there is dead to me. Well, again, except for Janet.”

“You’ll always be Tony’s go to shavers-.”

“I swear to _God,”_ Sam said, lightly whacking Steve on the top of his head with a cold towel. He then gently wiped the excess cream from Steve’s jaw. “Tell Tony that I’m raising his rates.”

Steve laughed, loud and carefree as Sam finally applied the aftershave. “You know that’ll only make him want it more.”

“Good. I need to keep as much business as I can.” Steve grimaced.

“That bad?” he asked and Sam sighed, leaning against the counter as Steve pulled out some money.

“That bad,” Pop said, walking by, and Sam threw a towel at his back.

“Keep your nosey ass out of my business,” Sam told him. Looking back at Steve, Sam told him, “I’m thinking of having a bake sale.” Steve nodded and stood, stretching.

“Maybe I’ll go pick up some lunch before Tony’s done. You want anything?” Sam shook his head. “Anybody else?”

“Milk. Make it chocolate,” Miles said, not taking his eyes away from the salon. “Maybe a chicken nugget or two. Sweet and sour sauce, not barbecue.”

Steve looked at Miles and then at Sam, questioning. Sam shrugged. “We’re on a stakeout, Steve.”

“Yeah, Steve, a stakeout,” Miles said. Suddenly remembering himself, he stammered out, “Uh, I mean, Mr. Rogers, Captain, sir.” Sam laughed and Steve did too, waving as he left.

“Sam,” Miles said, looking grim. “You’re gonna want to see this.” Sam almost found it cute how into this he was and took the binoculars.

Sam’s jaw dropped when he saw the note laying on a chair in the salon. It read, “Pipsqueak, tell chicken thighs to stop his pervy spying.” It was followed with a heart and Bucky’s signature. Sam puffed out his cheeks, handing the binoculars back to a still sour Miles.

“That son of a bitch.”

-X-

“I’m not sure this bake sale is the best way to promote our business,” Pop said, watching Luke and Sam hang streamers. Sam rolled his eyes and surveyed the shop. Honestly, it looked pretty damn good if Sam said so himself. The streamers were blue and yellow, adding some much needed color. Blue tablecloths covered the folding tables and they’d even put up some paper lanterns around with little stars cut out of them. However, what Sam thought really put it over the top and brought the whole business together was the large pieces of art that Miles had made for them. It looked exactly like graffiti and brought the perfect edge to their little sale.

“Just watch my grandma’s apple pie recipe work its magic,” Sam told him. Luke set some brownies on the table, next to the pie and snickerdoodle cookies that Rio Morales had whipped up.

The door opened and in walked Luke’s girlfriend, Jessica. She wore a leather jacket and black skinny jeans and she had a smear of what looked like blood on her cheek. Jessica shifted awkwardly and held up a plate of burned cookies.

“I tried,” she said, shoving the plate into Luke’s hands. Sam turned away because the look on Luke’s face was a little too soft.

Sam studied Miles’ art again and nodded at the kid. “Maybe we could auction this stuff off.” Miles snorted.

“Good luck,” he said. “ _Mami_ said that she wants it all to hang in the apartment. Dad’s just glad I’m not out there, tagging some place.”

The telltale bell above the door tinkled again and Miles lit up. “Peter!”

Sam glanced over his shoulder to give a smile to the college kid who’d just walked through the door. He was tall and lanky with a crooked nose. Sam knew him because, in high school, he used to babysit Miles and had to stop when he started going to community college. That was the same time Miles had started hanging around the shop.

“Heard there was a bake sale,” Peter said, smile tilted to one side and nose to the other. He held up a pan of what looked like lemon bars. “Aunt May’s secret recipe. This your art dude?”

Miles scampered off to show Peter his work and people started to filter in, making Pop start to perk up. Soon, Sam could barely move in the crowded store, but he still mingled around. He made his way to the front when he bumped into someone.

“Sorry,” Sam started to say and then stopped, jaw clicking shut, when he saw who it was. Bucky quirked an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Oh, never mind.”

“Is that anyway to treat a prospective customer?” Bucky asked and Sam scoffed.

“We don’t want your business,” Sam told him. Bucky looked around.

“I have to say, I didn’t think a bake sale would actually be successful.”

“Well, you were wrong. Which is unsurprising.” Sam grabbed a lemon bar and shoved it in his mouth, angrily munching as he stared at Bucky, who looked shifty. Actually, if Sam put aside his anger, Bucky looked a little sallow, shifting away so no one would brush against him.

“You okay?” Sam asked and Bucky stepped closer into Sam’s personal space.

“Yeah, I’m just not great with crowds,” Bucky said and Sam studied him.

“Army?” Sam asked. Bucky shook his head.

“Special ops. Best sniper you would have ever seen and then a POW. How I lost my arm, actually.” Sam blinked once and then twice, looking at the peek of silver from under Bucky’s long sleeves. It had never occurred that it was a prosthetic, but it appeared to be Stark technology, so that was most likely the goal.

“What about you?” Bucky asked. “You have the mannerisms of a soldier.”

“Air Force. My plane was the Falcon and my buddy’s was the Eagle. Mine made it out, his didn’t.” Bucky flinched.

“Life sucks,” Bucky said and Sam could toast to that. _Maybe Bucky’s not that bad._ “But it doesn’t suck as much as your haircut.” _Never mind._

“Why are you here?” Sam asked, incredulous. “Were you _invited?”_

Bucky opened his mouth to respond when a loud, boisterous voice yelled, “These snickerdoodles are heavenly. I must have more!” followed by a loud crash. Sam and Bucky both flinched, twisting to look at the beautiful blonde form the salon.

“That’s Thor,” Bucky said. Sam cut him a sharp glance.

“No.”

“Yep.”

“That can’t actually be his name.”

“Oh, but it is.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Bucky hummed. “His brother’s name is Loki.”

“ _Jesus_ Christ.”

-X-

The bake sale had been such a success that Pop had decided to have one every Sunday and Miles’ art had been a hit. Bucky had even wanted to buy some for the salon, but Sam had put his foot down. Miles was a part of Pop’s; his art stayed there.

Speaking of Bucky, Sam didn’t want to admit that the man wasn’t nearly as irritating as he seemed. In fact, Sam would argue that he had a good heart, but admitting his own judgements seemed embarrassing.

So, yeah, Bucky and Sam still bickered, but there was a sense of comradery between them now. Which meant that it wasn’t too weird to slip into the salon and wave Bucky down with a scowl.

Bucky came over with his eyebrows near his hairline. “What did I do now?” he asked and Sam shoved the poster he was holding in Bucky’s face.

“Your salon is a part of capitalism and you are contributing to the death of society as we know it,” Sam told him, waving the paper that had Tony Stark endorsing Bucky’s workplace all over it.

“Ooh, baby, you know I love it when you talk dirty,” Bucky said and Sam flushed. That was another thing Bucky did all the time; he made flirtatious comments that weren’t supposed to be serious, but Sam was only human and he had some perfectly good eyes to remind him that Barnes was walking, talking, sex-on-a-stick.

Still, Sam ignored him and stalked to one of the chairs, collapsing in it and leaning back. Maybe Sam could ask Pop to get some of these nice, reclining chairs because, honestly, Sam was a little attached.

Sam closed his eyes, listening to Bucky clean up the station. “Can you move your seat up?” Bucky asked.

“No,” Sam said, hearing silence and then, suddenly, he was being shoved out of the chair. Sam stumbled to his feet with a scowl, but Bucky did nothing more than smile sweetly. “Did _anybody_ teach you manners?”

“Don’t need ‘em when you look as good as me,” Bucky quipped and Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t disagree because, well, he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Friend Sam,” Thor said, or more like yelled. Sam didn’t think Thor knew what an indoor voice meant, but when you looked like a god, then it didn’t really matter.

Thor gave Sam a big hug, lifting him off his feet. Sam wheezed as his ribs folded in on themselves. Sam made a face over the giant man’s shoulder, making Bucky have to smother a laugh. A warm feeling rolled through Sam’s stomach, setting him on fire and melting him to nothing. The last time he’d felt anything like this was when he’d first flown his Falcon; the swoop of the height and the pop of his ears enough to make him go mad with need.

This was gentler, less adrenaline and more emotion. Sam’s mind flashed to his mother, living just down the street from him in Harlem. When he had the time to call across seas, she’d always listen to him gush about his plane and, one day, she sighed.

_“Sam, baby,”_ she had said, voice rough from cigarettes but still sweet from the nicotine. _“I worry about you.”_

_“Why, Mama?”_ Sam had asked, watching Riley goof off with the other pilots.

_“Darling, you’re Icarus through and through,”_ she said and Sam had focused on her; on the lilt of her voice and the warmth of her tone. “ _You chase adventure and you chase freedom. You bask in the sun because how could something that you love hurt you?”_

_“Mama-.”_

_“But, Sam.”_ Her voice had cracked and Sam had sobered up because, even as an adult, her tears could bring him to his knees. And there he had been, halfway across the world and not able to hold her. _“The sun loved Icarus so much that, with the force of its love, it sent him falling- no,_ plummeting _so Icarus could never leave. Don’t fall, baby. Because the only one who can catch you is the sea.”_

Sam hadn’t understood what she was saying until Riley had been shot down and Sam had felt himself fall with the man. Sam had been helpless; he had come home with his sun blistered skin and wounded heart and built himself back to something that resembled a human being.

But he wouldn’t be fooled again and, this time, his foundations were not built on the clouds so he could be close to the sun, but, instead, on the ground, where the sun could only touch him, not burn him alive.

Yet, Bucky made Sam remember that feeling; that feeling of taking off from the ground to the sky. That feeling of not being destroyed by the sun, but being loved by it. And it scared Sam, realizing that he was even capable of feeling that way again. His feelings for the sky becoming his feelings for Bucky.

Which was a _little_ too much for Sam to handle and why he threw the poster he held into Bucky’s face and took off sprinting.

He ran to Pop’s, skidding in and scaring Luke, who was carefully taking care of T’Challa. T’Challa was the king of an African country who visited every so often with his fiancé, Ororo, regarding diplomatic relations. He always stopped by for a clean-up and had quickly become friends with the others in the shop.

Ororo sat in the chair next to him and looked at Sam with a smile. She was the queen of her own country and the two had been promised to each other since birth, but Sam could see the love and, even more so, the respect they had for each other. It made Sam yearn for something that they had and his mind flashed to Bucky, which sent him further into his panic attack.

“Hey guys,” Sam said, voice wheezing a bit. Ororo looked concerned. “Want your silver touched up, your majesty?”

“Are you alright, Samuel?” Ororo asked, exchanging a look with T’Challa and Sam gave them a thumbs up. He grabbed a bottle of water from the cold ones usually reserved for the customers and chugged it. Still, his chest felt too tight and the feeling of death started to crawl up his stomach.

Peter stood from where he was looking through Miles’ sketchpad, moving closer to Sam. “Hey now, man, deep breaths.” Sam cast a glare at him because the whole problem here was his inability to breathe.

“Samuel,” T’Challa said, standing smoothly. “Put your head between your legs and count backwards from 100. We are with you.”

Sam followed his advice, shaking. _100…_

“Everything is going to be fine,” Ororo said, sitting next to Sam. If he had been in his right mind, he would have flipped over the queen sitting on the ground. “Your friends are here with you and whatever is bothering you will be okay.”

_90…_

T’Challa squatted down in front of Sam. “My late father, King T’Chaka, used to tell my sister and I that, whenever we felt anxious, all we had to do was count from 100 and see just how slow time actually is.”

_80…_

“My mother,” Ororo said, “that if I was ever overwhelmed, I should think of those who loved me, just so I would remember I wasn’t alone.”

_70…_

“You have so many here who care for you,” T’Challa reminded Sam.

Sam could feel the panic loosen its grip, becoming more bearable as his breathing started to stabilize. 

_60…_

Miles hesitated at the edge of Sam’s vision, stepping forward to curl up in front of Sam. He fidgeted with his hands and Sam focused on them; the way they were soft with his young age and stained from charcoal. It was hypnotic to stare at them.

_50…_

Peter came closer, too, and gave Sam a smile when they met each other’s eyes. His brown eyes were wide as ever, offset by his crooked nose. He had slight bruising under his eye and a camera hanging around his neck. His hair, a mess of curls, flopped over his forehead. Sam wanted to tell Peter that he looked like his uncle; vowed to do so when he felt better.

_40…_

Ororo rubbed Sam’s arm and he valued the warmth that was bleeding back into him.

_30…_

T’Challa hummed a song; deep and melodic.

_20…_

Miles grabbed Sam’s hands in his own, anchoring him.

_10…_

Peter just watched, a calming presence of steadiness.

_0…_

Bucky walked in, concern written all over his face as he looked at the proceedings of Sam curled in on himself and surrounded by the others.

“Sam,” Bucky said, voice tight. He waited by the door, a picture of hesitation.

“Hey, man,” Sam said, voice cracking. He reached up with shaking hands to touch his cheeks, surprised by the wetness there. Sam scrubbed at his face. “What brings you to these neck of the woods?” Sam threw his arms around hazardously. Bucky looked even more confused.

“Are you… drunk?” he asked and Sam snorted, stretching his legs out.

“Panic attack,” he said and Bucky’s face cleared somewhat. “Hormone rush.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nah.” Bucky moved closer until he could bend down and rest his hand on Sam’s knee. He rubbed kindly, methodically, and Sam felt a part of himself break. There was no reason to fight what he felt. He was going to have these emotions and maybe he couldn’t act on them, but trying to erase his feelings would only hurt Sam more.

Sam met Bucky’s gray eyes and just fell into his acceptance. _It’s inevitable,_ Sam thought, resignedly. _The sun rises in the east, sets in the west, and I fall in love with James Buchanan Barnes._

Pop walked in, laughing at something Luke said and then stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked at everybody.

“What the hell happened here?” he asked and Miles snorted.

“Well, isn’t that just a mood,” the boy muttered.

-X-

Sam’s life had been rather simple since he’d accepted the fact that he was in love with Bucky. All things considered, there were worse people to be in love with than gray-eyed men with luxurious hair and a prosthetic arm and the emotional capacity of a two-year old child.

But Bucky was kind and easy-going and liked to make Sam laugh when he insulted him. It was kind of nice, having that sort of attention on him, Sam couldn’t help but decide.

“Darlin’,” Bucky drawled, watching Sam as he cut Steve’s hair. “I’m a little concerned by your technique.”

Sam hummed, not really listening. He’d heard it almost every day from Bucky, who was determined to help Sam realize that he was cutting hair all wrong.

Steve was side-eyeing Tony, who was sitting in one of the other chairs and spinning, because, what Sam knew of Tony after meeting him, he was an actual _child._

“That’s not how they teach you in cosmetology school,” Bucky said and, ah, there was the true problem.

“Never went,” Sam said, lightly, like it wasn’t an actual big deal. Like Bucky didn’t have the ability to actually report him.

“You mean,” Bucky started, slowly, “that you don’t have a barber license?”

Pop frowned and lifted his head up from his newspaper, looking like he didn’t appreciate where this conversation was heading. “You don’t need a damn license to cut hair properly,” he said in a gruff voice. “It’s a damn waste of time and money. Sam’s one of the best barbers I know and he can do it because he works hard.”

Bucky held up his hands, placating. “I know,” he said, gently, and Sam looked at him. He was so sincere that Sam let all his tension bleed out.

Sam snipped at Steve’s hair again and Bucky hummed, moving to stand behind Sam. “Let me help,” the hair stylist said and he wrapped his arms around Sam, covering his hands with his own. Sam breathed deeply, feeling Bucky’s chest move with him.

“You hold the scissors so tightly,” Bucky said. Sam let Bucky loosen his fingers and move Sam’s hands to how he wanted them. “Relax them a little, hon.”

Sam let his movements be controlled, Bucky murmuring softly in his ear. It was easy to forget that Bucky wasn’t as in love with Sam as Sam was with him when they were like this. When Bucky forgot about personal space and that Sam wasn’t who he wanted.

“It’s easier like this,” Sam said, voice still soft for fear of breaking the moment. It _was_ easier. The scissors moved more swiftly and they felt less clunky in his hands.

“You gotta cut hair like it’s your lover,” Bucky said, his voice right in Sam’s ear. Sam shivered when the warm air puffed over his skin. “You need a gently touch, baby.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony said and Sam flinched, looking at the billionaire. Tony had an eyebrow quirked, phone dangling from his fingers. “That was the gayest thing I have ever seen and I’ve seen Steve’s dick.”

Bucky huffed, but he at least didn’t move away, instead leaning harder against Sam and trapping him against Steve’s chair. it was a welcome weight. “There something particularly gay about Steve’s dick?” Bucky asked.

Tony beamed, like Bucky had just given him a present. “Yeah, me sucking it.” Steve groaned, banging his head back against Sam’s stomach.

“I can’t go anywhere with you,” Steve said, but there was an undercurrent of fondness that made Sam yearn.

Bucky propped his head on Sam’s shoulder, burying his head against Sam’s neck. _This is what you wanted,_ Sam reminded himself, but the truth was that he wanted more. He wanted Bucky to love him back.

Tony watched him with narrowed eyes and, when Sam really looked at him, his face softened. He gave Sam a small smile and a wink; a promise that Sam’s feelings were safe between them. Sam half-smiled back, leaning into Bucky’s arms. When Bucky nuzzled harder into Sam, Sam sighed and accepted his fate of one-sided love.

_Well, things could be worse._

-X-

_Things are officially worse._

Sam stared with narrowed eyes at the redhead chatting with Bucky outside the salon. Safe in Pop’s shop, Sam studied the two. There was a familiarity there that Sam had never known; like the two had known each other from the day they were born.

The woman was beautiful; she was all sinewy muscle and sharp features. Her long curls blew behind her, but Sam could have sworn there was no damn wind. They looked good together, Sam noted, feeling himself start to become upset. _A match made in heaven._

Bucky made a hand gesture and the two twisted to look towards Sam, so, like any normal person would do, he threw himself to the ground. He laid there, sprawled and breathing heavy, when the door hit his leg. Grunting, Sam moved it and in slipped Peter and Miles.

Miles looked embarrassed, which was par for the course these days, while Peter looked like he was trying to not laugh.

“Hey, Sam,” Peter said. “Floor comfy?”

“The comfiest,” Sam said back and, this time, Peter did laugh. Miles paused by Sam, looking like he was trying to find something to say, before he finally just sighed and walked away.

Sam carefully peeked up, pushing himself to his knees quickly when he realized that the woman and Bucky were nowhere to be seen.

“You’re an idiot,” Luke called and Sam flipped him off.

“Don’t tell Rio I did that,” Sam told Miles and he scowled.

“ _Again._ Thirteen, not two.” Sam snorted.

“I don’t care how old you are,” Sam said. “I care about not getting my ass beat with a rolling pin.”

Sam stood up, grumbling about old age when his knees popped and his back cracked. Honestly, hitting the deck when he was in the air force had seemed like a piece of cake, back then. Now, he could still hit the deck; he just wasn’t sure he could get back up again.

“You are a strange man,” a lilting, accented voice said and Sam jumped, turning and wincing when he saw who was talking to him. The woman before Sam was the one who had been with Bucky. She was even prettier up close, but scarier, too. Tiny scars covered her face and ran down her neck, like little cracks in her porcelain skin. She had a major scar along her neck, pink and healed over, like someone had desperately tried to hurt her.

Judging from the vibes Sam was getting from her, the other person probably looked a hell of a lot worse.

The redhead made a face at Sam and he realized that he hadn’t answered her. “Sorry,” Sam squeaked and then cleared his throat. “Uh, I mean, sorry. I’m, um, not usually this flustered.”

the woman smiled, though it was less nice and more like staring into a shark’s mouth. “I have that effect on men,” she said, flippantly. She held her hand out, nails clean of any varnish. A small, red star tattoo was in the meta between her thumb and pointer. Sam’s mind flashed to Bucky matching tattoo and he quelled down the flash of jealousy.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she introduced and Sam shook her hand, firmly.

“Samuel Wilson,” he said, dropping her hand. “You friends with Bucky?”

Natasha hummed, green eyes dancing. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she murmured and Sam wanted to snap that _yes,_ he would like to know, that’s why he asked.

“I am,” Sam said and Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Friends with Bucky, that is.”

“Oh, I know.”

That… didn’t make Sam feel comfortable at all. In fact, it made him feel on edge and his teeth ache with how hard he clenched his jaw.

“You don’t like me,” Natasha said and Sam opened his mouth to disagree because he didn’t not, _not_ like her. He just didn’t like how close she was to Bucky.

“Sorry,” Sam settled with because that’s all he really could say. He was pushing his feelings on her unnecessarily and it wasn’t fair, not really.

Natasha waved her hands, uncaring. “I do not mind. Besides, it doesn’t matter what I feel about you, only how Bucky feels, no?”

Sam startled because, really, was he that obvious?

“You weren’t that transparent,” Natasha said, practically reading Sam’s mind. “I’m a very good judge of character. And Bucky’s easier to read than a book when you really know him. You should ask him out.”

Sam snorted. “That’s an awful idea,” he told her. “Truly, the worst idea I have ever heard.”

Natasha huffed, but she smiled. “Fine,” she conceded. “But let it be known that I tried.” She moved to go, but stopped and turned, biting her lip in a pout. Sam heard Peter drop his camera, the horny college boy he was.

“I’m having a little get together tonight before I leave back home to Russia. I’d like you to come out with us to that little Italian place up the street.” Sam hesitated but she pouted harder. “Please?” she practically purred. Somewhere, Peter was having an actual aneurysm.

Sam wanted to tell her that putting was a bad look on her, especially when she looked more like a venomous snake than a demure woman. Yet, her eyes held a clear challenge in them, like she was daring Sam to say no and face the consequences.

“Sure,” Sam said instead and her face cleared, pure evil delight making her shine.

“Great,” she said and the accent was mysteriously gone, as was she. “See you at six.”

“Goodness,” Luke said, shaking his head as he took off more from Misty’s afro. “Peter, stop thinking with your dick and clean up your mess, please.”

Sam blinked at a red-faced Peter and a cackling Miles, but went back to sweeping. Looks like he’d be going home early tonight.

-X-

Sam walked into the little Italian place, immediately being hit with the smell of fresh garlic bread. His stomach rumbled loudly and he walked up to the maître d’, smiling at the bored looking man.

“Hello, how can I help you?” he asked, in a bored tone.

“Uh, I’m here for a reservation under Romanoff?” Sam gave a smile and the man snorted.

“Yeah, the other person got here like, five minutes before you,” he said and Sam frowned, because that sounded weird.

“Isn’t it a group?” he asked and the man gave him a dirty look.

“Obviously not,” he said and Sam fell silent in confusion as he followed. They wound through tables and ducked behind a section that was curtained off. When Sam’s eyes adjusted to the darker lighting, he blinked in surprise at Bucky sitting at the table, playing with his phone.

Bucky glanced up and then did a double-take, eyes wide and bright. “Hey,” he breathed and Sam wanted to melt at his tone. It was too much for just one man to handle.

“I think Natasha played us,” Sam said, dryly, taking his seat. He sat down and fiddle with the napkin, watching Bucky. The hair stylist across from him looked shy, just barely glancing up from his eyelashes.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said and Sam frowned.

“Why are you sorry?”

Bucky clasped his hands and placed them under his chin. “I told some things to Natasha and she’s never been one to not meddle in other people’s business.” Sam still didn’t understand because what would Bucky tell Natasha that had to do with him?

“Well,” Sam said, picking up the menu. “I’m never one to turn down food and good company. You order yet?”

Bucky shook his head and they set about to ordering. Sam kept trying to meet Bucky’s eyes, but he was refusing to look up. Sam sighed.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” he asked. When Bucky still didn’t answer, Sam felt his heart ache. “Look, I’m sorry that I’m not Natasha.”

Bucky’s head shot up and he looked horrified. “No,” he said, hurriedly. He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Sam. I don’t want you to be Natasha.” Bucky opened his eyes and looked earnestly at Sam.

Sam didn’t feel very convinced. “It’s okay if you’re disappointed,” he said. the words felt like pulling teeth. “I’d understand; I know she must be your girlfriend or something.”

“ _No,”_ Bucky practically yelled and Sam startled, as did the waiter, causing the woman to spill her pitcher of water all over the table. Bucky cursed and they both jumped up, pressing their napkins into the large puddle as the waiter looked close to tears. She blubbered her apologies and Sam tried to give her a comforting smile.

“Nat’s not my girlfriend,” Bucky whispered and Sam leaned in close, just to hear him. “She didn’t show up because…” Bucky hesitated, giving Sam the chance to move in and rest his hand on top of Bucky’s.

“I like you,” Bucky blurted out and it felt like the rug was pulled out from underneath Sam. Emotions rolled through Sam like a hurricane, happiness and fear and _doubt,_ all wrapped in a pretty little bow. His chest tightened and then, inexplicable, loosened, right as Bucky started to pull away. He had a look of fear and self-loathing on his face.

Sam reached and grabbed the collar of Bucky’s shirt, tugging until their faces were inches apart. “I want to kiss you,” Sam said and Bucky nodded, eyes wild, while Sam moved his head that much more and then they were kissing.

The first press of their lips was gentle, nothing more than a soft pressure, but it gave way to something headier; darker. Lips moved in tandem and Sam’s hands went around Bucky’s neck while Bucky’s went to Sam’s hips, vice-like tight.

“Ahem,” a voice broke through them and they pulled apart as quick as they could. The waiter was standing right next to their table, wide-eyed and with a strong blush to her cheeks.

“Sorry,” Bucky said and Sam almost pulled him in again when he heard the rasp to his voice. Bucky grabbed some money- much more than the meal was worth, Sam noted- and tossed it on the table.

“Thank you,” Sam tossed over his shoulder as he was dragged away and out of the restaurant, Bucky waving down a cab. Sam was pushed in and he grunted as he sprawled on the seat.

Bucky followed Sam and rattled off his address to the cabdriver, then went back to kissing Sam like they had all the time in the world.

Sam’s hands tangled in the belt loops of Bucky’s jeans, moving himself even closer. _Maybe we do,_ Sam thought, mind blissfully at peace.

-X-

Sam laid, star-fished on Bucky’s bed as he listened to him putter around in the kitchen. Last night had been… amazing. Full of love and laughter and connections. Sam wasn’t sure the week could get any better than this.

“Oh my _God,_ Bucky! Where are you _clothes?”_

Sam grinned, turning his smile into the pillow and breathing in the scent of Bucky’s cologne.

_Home,_ Sam thought. _It’s about time I had one again._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3


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